


What You Don't Know

by CES479



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Also Romance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Modern Thedas, Slow Burn, murder mystery AU??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-25 22:18:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13844181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CES479/pseuds/CES479
Summary: Cullen Rutherford and his partner Cassandra are hard-working detectives in Denerim trying to dismantle the city's increasingly lucrative (and illegal) lyrium empire. They've got no leads, no witnesses, and no hope.That is, until a particularly surly bartender/petty criminal on the inside agrees to help them. She's not eager to risk life and limb to be an informant, not even after maybe (definitely) falling in love with the detective tasked with ensuring her safety.This duo might be just the ticket to taking down the mysterious drug lords terrorizing Ferelden. Plus, it wouldn't be a very fun cop!AU without star-crossed lovers, now would it?





	What You Don't Know

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, friends. A modern!AU for the lovebirds this time around (wow, how original). Apparently Katria is such a problem child that the only modern job I could think of for her is "snarky bartender working at illegal front for massive drug cartel." Charming, I know. But since Cullen is a cop, we get some star-crossed lover drama, so maybe it works. 
> 
> This is a modern!AU with no magic, but still generally set in Thedas. With some tweaks here and there. Oh also I claim zero expertise over crime-solving or police procedure, except for what I learned in law school (ha, nothing) or what I picked up from a years-long obsession with CSI in my youth. 
> 
> Enjoy! :D

Cullen was used to starting his morning with dead bodies. They weren’t dead by his hand—unless it was a special occasion—but being a homicide detective in the bustling city of Denerim meant more often than not, each day began trying to take stock of who’d been killed in the increasing fits of violence across the city. The world—Ferelden, Orlais, everywhere—had truly gone mad. 

This day was no different. He drove his car to a seedy part of town, flashed his lights, and parked where he pleased in front of a corner bar mobbed with curious people. He pushed through the crowd that was cordoned onto the sidewalk and slipped under the yellow tape just barely keeping them at bay. 

His partner, Cassandra, was already there, tight-lipped and listening to the cop who’d arrived first at the scene. Cullen concealed his annoyed huff at seeing her. They got the call at exactly the same time that morning, but Cass always found a way to beat him to the crime scene. Their co-equal obsession with punctuality was one of the many things they had in common. 

Cullen unclasped the buttons of his coat as he stepped inside the bar. It was dingy and dark even at this time of morning, the air stifling. The summer had just passed Denerim by, but in the day time in crowded places the heat remained. 

Cass only nodded curtly to him as he saddled up beside her. “What have you got, Harding?” 

Officer Harding turned to him and gave a quick greeting—she was tired, he could see. Her normally tightly-tied hair was disheveled, and red strands framed her face from her temples. 

“Got a call around 3am. Neighbors heard gunfire, I rushed in, and found our guy already dead in the alley. Took four or five in the chest, which tells me that someone really wanted him dead.” 

“Primary tests by CSU found traces of lyrium on his hands and clothes,” Cassandra added. 

Cullen pursed his lips, hiding his alarm because this was the fourth murder in a month related to the lyrium trade. Dealers were getting bolder, product was flooding the market, and the cartels were becoming increasingly territorial. 

“Any witnesses?” he asked. 

Harding grimaced. “No one sober enough to recall anything, except the bartender. Who’s has been hostile, to say the least.” She crossed her arms. “I’ve responded to plenty of calls here, so she might have something to hide.” 

Harding was probably right. The Herald’s Rest was widely known as a front for the operations of a particularly pernicious cartel run by a man named Samson and backed by some anonymous and powerful background players. Plenty of the money made selling lyrium was laundered here, and known dealers were often seen in the area. 

“I’ll talk to her,” Cassandra said, a familiar sternness in her voice. She and Cullen made a great team, but neither of them was ever very good at playing “good cop.” 

“Where is she?” Cullen asked. 

Harding gestured behind them, where a woman was standing against the back wall, arms crossed, looking none too pleased to be surrounded by police officers. 

Cassandra immediately bolted over, past the faded wooden bar that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in ages. Cullen hurried behind her. 

They both stopped in front of the woman, who didn’t move, merely cocked an eyebrow in their direction. 

“Are you the bartender?” Cassandra asked. 

“No, I’m just standing here because it’s closer to the alcohol.” 

Cassandra frowned. “State your name please.” 

The woman straightened—because she was leaning, Cullen had not realized how tall she was. Not quite as towering as Cassandra, but better than most. She had wavy brown hair that was pulled to the nape of her neck, a ratty plaid shirt that could have belonged to his brother, and a determined and annoyed set to her square jaw. 

“Who wants to know?” she asked 

Cullen intervened as Cassandra’s frowned thinned. “I’m Cullen Rutherford. This is Cassandra Pentaghast. We’re detectives, and we’d like to ask you about what happened this morning.” 

She gestured to the door that lead to the back alley. “Did context clues not tell you the whole story? Guy got shot. And then he died.” 

“Just tell us your name please,” Cullen said again. 

The woman pursed her thin lips tighter. “Katria.” 

“Do you have a last name, Katria?” he asked. 

“I don’t see how that’s going to help you catch the murderer.” 

Cassandra scowled. “You seem awfully defensive. How do we know it wasn’t you?” 

“If I’d shot that man, do you really think I’d be sitting here with my thumb up my ass talking to you two?” she asked incredulously. 

Cullen leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. “If you’re not going to cooperate, we can always cuff you and take you down to the station.” 

She shrugged. “I’m still on the clock, so this can continue for as long as you’d like, anywhere you’d like. I’d rather answer your asinine questions than get groped by another drunk asshole.” 

“Asinine?” Cassandra began sharply. “A man is dead.” 

“Yeah they seem to pile up around here, no thanks to you,” she replied. 

Cullen resisted the urge to run his hand through his hair—he’d just styled it, and he didn’t want this woman to think her clear attempts to frustrate him were working. “Could you please just tell us what happened, from your point of view?” 

Katria searched his face for a few moments before speaking in a clipped tone. “He’s not a regular. Came in around 2am, had a couple beers, then left. It was almost as if he were waiting for someone. Kept checking his phone. I heard the gunshots in the alley after closing at 3.” 

“Did you see anyone running away from the scene?” he asked. 

“No, I generally try not to run _towards_ gun fire when I hear it,” she replied. “Force of habit, I guess.”

“Do you know the victim?” 

“No,” she said. 

“Was he a lyrium dealer?” 

“I told you,” she said. “I don’t know him, so how would I know if he’s a dealer?” 

Cullen’s frown deepened to match Cassandra’s—this woman would be no help. The people surrounding the lyrium trade—empire, really—were tight-lipped. And frightened. Whatever pressure Cullen could put on them was nothing compared to what Samson would do to snitches. 

Still, Cullen reached into his pocket and pulled out his card. She did not offer a hand, so he put it on the bar. “Call us if you remember anything.” 

“And don’t leave the country,” Cassandra added. 

The woman grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Also, can’t afford it.” 

Cassandra and Cullen retreated without another word, before his partner pulled out her notepad and scrawled out the bartender’s name. “I’m going to see what comes up on her.”

“Good idea,” Cullen said, and he stepped aside just as a long black bag on a stretcher was pushed past them through the door. He did believe that she was innocent of the murder at hand, but surely she had information that could help them catch at least one mid-level dealer. They were in desperate need of information. Samson seemed to be picking off every person who got too close.

“Let’s check out the alley,” Cassandra said, gesturing to the small door that led to the back of the bar. They passed through one at a time, and Cullen crossed the threshold just in time to see the bartender disappear through another door. She had left his card on the bar, untouched. 

===

The alley was barren of clues. Of anything really—it was just a narrow, moldy inlet filled with boxes and up until that morning, a dead body. The victim—Delrin Barris—had been shot in close range in the chest multiple times. There were no shell casings left behind, no footprints, no good camera angles from the surrounding streets, nothing. Samson and his goons were getting too good at this. 

Cassandra and Cullen were both irritated by it, so they were silent on the walk to their cars. And when they both arrived at the police station, too, they had little to say. Nor at their adjacent desks. 

It was not until a heavy file was dropped unceremoniously on his desk that they began another conversation. “The bartender’s file,” Cassandra announced. 

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “I’m assuming this isn’t chalk-full of good deeds.” 

She perched on the edge of his desk, slightly skewing the neat pile of paper beside her. “Not even close.” 

He flipped to the top page—the paper was still warm from the printer. Cassandra could have just emailed him the file, but apparently she wanted a hard copy for dramatic effect. 

Katria Trevelyan had emigrated from the Free Marches more than ten years ago and made quite an impression on her new home. Her string of offenses including petty theft, larceny, a slew of public intoxication charges and unpaid parking tickets. Nothing violent or drug-related, though a long list nonetheless. She’d been brought in to the station in relation to three different homicides over the past year. 

“If Barris was a dealer, there is no way she didn’t know him,” Cullen remarked after looking up. 

“I know,” Cassandra said. “You need to cross-check his phone records. In the meantime, I’ll head to Barris’s apartment and see if I can find anything.” 

“He’s got a wife,” Cullen said. “Has she been told what happened?” 

“Josephine is taking care of it,” Cassandra replied, of which he was relieved. Breaking tragic news to people was neither of their strong suits; Josephine had a much more sensitive touch for those matters. She handled most of the PR and civilian relations for the unit—help they sorely needed as of late. 

Cullen stood. “Check back with me when you’re done.” 

Cassandra just nodded in reply and grabbed her black jacket from the back of her chair before she disappeared in between the uniformed officers and other detectives milling around. 

Cullen turned to his desk to straighten the papers that had gone askew. He then relegated Trevelyan’s file to the far corner of his workspace—why comb through it when he already knew what it said? 

Instead, he turned his efforts to what he could uncover from Barris’ phone. Most dealers had plenty of burners, but perhaps Cullen could uncover something that could give him some leverage with a potential witness. Anything to bring them closer to toppling Samson’s empire.

===

After skipping lunch, Cullen found what he was looking for. He suspected Barris knew Trevelyan—Barris frequented that bar, and Trevelyan’s denial was weak—so when he came across many months worth of conversation between them, it came as no surprise. Texts, brief phone calls, emails. Certainly a friendship. One whose ending Trevelyan didn’t seem too broken up about.

He resolved to return to the bar immediately, rather than meet up with Cassandra. She could handle herself, and he knew they wouldn’t find anything at Barris’ apartment anyway. No, sadly, a surly bartender with a penchant for lying was their only lead at the moment. 

Cullen arrived at the Herald’s Rest just in time. As he slipped through the doors and his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw two figures behind the bar—Trevelyan and some wiry blonde with sheared bangs. She was probably replacing Trevelyan after her long shift. 

Trevelyan spotted him immediately, but betrayed no sense of alarm. Only annoyance in the pucker of her brow. 

Cullen walked over to her. 

“Do you know what the penalty is for obstruction of justice?” 

She had reached down to grab her worn leather backpack from the cabinet. “A stern talking-to by an uptight police officer?”

“It’s a crime,” he said. 

She selected an unopened bottle of whiskey from behind her and slid it into the drink sleeve on the side of her bag. Probably stealing to drink for later. “Thanks for the tip.” 

Cullen slapped a pile of papers onto the bar. “You knew Delrin Barris. Your number is all over his phone records. His email.” 

“Is it illegal to have a friend?” she asked. 

Cullen turned to face her as she circled around the bar. “If he’s dead and you lied about it.” 

She stopped in front of him. "That doesn't mean I had anything to do with it." 

"You had means and opportunity," Cullen replied. 

"Means?" she began incredulously, holding her arms up. "I'm sorry, officer, do you have x-ray vision? Can you see a gun on my person? Are you judging me for not wearing underwear?" 

He flushed red because most people he talked to did not casually mention their undergarments. Clearly a tactic to fluster and distract him. That would fail. "If I searched your apartment, I wouldn't find a gun?" 

Her hands dropped, and she frowned. "A gun, not _the_ gun. Also, get a warrant." 

"Don't think I won't," he said. 

Trevelyan passed him. "Good luck explaining my motive. I don't make a habit of killing my friends." 

He hustled after her, voice louder as he followed her. "People do crazy things on lyrium." 

She gave a huff of a laugh. "As if they let me sample the product." 

Cullen grabbed her arm to stop her, trying to be gentle, but his adrenaline and heart rate had spiked hearing her. No one closely connected to the lyrium trade had ever given him more then 30 seconds and a death threat. Maybe Trevelyan was disillusioned. Or just plain reckless. 

"Are you saying-," 

She abruptly clenched her jaw, one hand raised to break from his grasp. “Listen, asshole, we both know what’s going on here.”

“At the bar, you mean,” he said. “I might know, but I need someone willing to vouch for it.” 

Trevelyan snorted. “I value my life so I’ve got nothing to say to you.” 

She began walked past him, and Cullen stepped in front of her. “DPD can protect-,”

“Yeah, enough with the bullshit,” she cut in tersely. “The police here can hardly protect themselves, much less the rest of us.” 

“I can protect you,” he insisted. 

Trevelyan just gave a derisive laugh, pushing past him to the door. She did not pause and darted through it, even though the light probably burned her eyes. 

Cullen jogged after her. “If you’re involved, we can cut you a-,” 

She stopped on the sidewalk and leaned in, clearly frustrated. “You’re not going to beat them, okay? So leave me alone.” 

“I can’t without help,” he said, following her. “And not for lack of trying.” He threw his hand out. “I am tired of seeing good men like Barris—maybe even you—forced into this life and killed because they’re viewed as dispensable.”

She stopped and frowned, finally meeting his gaze. “If you think Samson was the only thing that forced me into this life, then you’re an idiot.” 

“If Barris was truly your friend, do something to help him,” Cullen said. 

She shook her head. “He’s dead now. He can’t be helped.” She took a step back. “And I don’t intend to end up like him anytime soon.”

Trevelyan was striding past him again, faster this time, long legs pumping and ratty shoes thumping the concrete. He didn’t follow her. He saw no point. She was scared into silence like the others, and he’d done nothing to prove that he could truly protect her. 

Cullen finally ran his hand through his hair, destroying the careful waves. Whenever he got close to Samson—and whoever his boss was—they were always one step ahead of him. It was an endless chase, and if they didn’t catch up, Denerim, and Ferelden with it, might be destroyed beyond recognition.


End file.
